


(Un)Deadlights

by IAmTheUnsub



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Deadlights (IT), Fix-It, Gay, Gay Richie Tozier, Gen, M/M, Necromancy, Pennywise (IT) Lives, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie brings Eddie back, Richie makes a deal, Richie saves Eddie, kind of, somewhat dark!Richie, undead character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2020-11-25 15:57:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20914712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmTheUnsub/pseuds/IAmTheUnsub
Summary: Richie goes back to dig Eddie out, Pennywise offers him something better. For a price.'He’d have to live with knowing that he’d left Eddie behind. He’d have to go back to California and sleep in his warm bed in his ridiculously big apartment knowing that Eddie was rotting underground, in the dark, surrounded by filth.“Just go, Richie. He’s dead. Just leave,” he hisses at himself.He doesn’t.He throws the car into reverse and turns back towards Derry.“It’s okay, Eds. I’m coming. I’ll get you out.'





	1. You Are Now Leaving Derry

**Author's Note:**

> I mean. There were a shitload of sewer tunnels. Who's to say they all collapsed? Also I'm sorry but if you can bully an ancient evil to death then you can believe it back to life. Like Tinkerbell.

“All packed up?”

Richie jumped, spinning on his heel to see a smiling Beverly standing behind him.

“Jesus Christ! Are you trying to scare me to death?”,he threw a hand up to rest dramatically over his heart. Beverly rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

“If the ancient shapeshifting clown couldn’t manage it, then I doubt I will.”, she takes a peek over Richie’s shoulder, into the open trunk of his car and her smile falls, morphing into something more sympathetic, almost pitying. Richie followed her gaze to Eddie’s suitcases, tucked in alongside his own.

Richie closed the trunk and shrugged at her.

“I don’t… it didn’t seem right to leave all of his stuff behind for the maids to throw in the trash”, he explained. Bev isn't convinced. She just stared at him; waiting. He turned and slammed the trunk closed, resting his forehead on the cool metal for a moment. He gathered his strength, then spoke again.

“I’m afraid I’ll forget him. I’m fucking terrified that we’ve left him behind and as soon as we leave Derry he’ll be gone forever. His crap is the only thing left of him, I don’t even know if it’ll be enough or if I’ll get on the highway and suddenly have no idea why I’ve got someone else clothes and an entire fucking pharmacy in my trunk, but it’s all I have, Bev. It's all-”, he’s horrified to feel a sob shaking his chest. Beverly’s face crumbled and she quickly dragged him into a tight hug. Richie buried his face in her shoulder. Safe in the knowledge that she wouldn't judge him, Richie started to bawl freely. He found himself thinking that he’d probably cried more in the past week than he had his whole life. Beverly didn’t seem to mind, she didn’t shush him or try to calm him down, she just held him tightly, one hand tangled in the hair at the base of his neck to keep his face pressed against her.

They stood there for what felt like hours before Richie got himself under control, sobs turning to hiccups, then calming to sniffles. He pulled back, but Bev didn’t let him go far, resting her hands gently on his cheeks. She swiped her thumbs under his eyes, then pulled the sleeve of her sweater over one hand and used it to wipe his nose clean. He choked out a watery laugh.

“That’s disgusting, Bev. That sweater is probably worth, like, a bajillion dollars”, he protested. She laughed with him and examined the soiled fabric.

“I don’t know, you probably have some creepy fan who’d pay top dollar for your DNA”, she waggled her eyebrows suggestively and he snorted out a laugh.

“Yeah, clone your own annoying, B-list celebrity comedian.”

“Perfect Christmas gift for the lonely lady”, Beverly suggested. Richie’s face dropped and he cleared his throat after a moment of silence.

“Or… or lonely gentleman, maybe”, Richie managed to choke out after a deep breath.

Beverly stared blankly at him for a moment, waiting for a punchline. When it didn’t come, her jaw fell slack.

“Oh…”

Richie swallowed hard around the lump in his throat and nodded stiffly. The hopeful expression on his face fading as Bev stays quiet. He dropped his eyes to his feet dejectedly and moved to step back. She reached out for him again and threaded their fingers together. His eyes lift to meet hers again, heartened to find a reassuring smile on her lips.

“Thank you for telling me, Richie. It was brave, especially since we've been apart for so long”, she praised softly. 

“You don’t hate me?”, he asked, convinced it couldn’t be that easy. She furrowed her eyebrows at him.

“Richie… You’ve always been gay. Bi?”, he shook his head and she continued, “Gay then. You were gay when we were kids, you were gay when you fought an alien with a baseball bat to save Bill, you were gay when you taught me how to play Street Fighter, you were gay when you got yourself caught in the Deadlights to save us. You’ve always been gay, Richie. Saying it out loud doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

Richie just gaped at her, mouth opening and closing a few times while she patiently waited. Finding he can’t bring himself to speak, he bit at his wobbling lower lip to steady it and nodded gratefully. Seeing that the conversation is over, Beverly kissed his cheek gently and pulled away.

“Take care of yourself Richie. I’ll text you the whole way home, just to make sure you don’t forget.” Richie, seeing an opening, grinned salaciously at her.

“Home, eh?”, he winked at her and jerked his head towards where Ben is putting her bags into his own car. Beverly followed his gaze with a smile.

“Yeah. Home.”

Bev and Richie hug tightly one more time before she gets into Ben’s car. Richie raised a hand to wave goodbye and Ben returned the wave enthusiastically. Richie moved to lean against the driver’s side door of his car to watch them drive away.

Now alone, Richie looked up at the Derry Guesthouse, staring at the window to Eddie’s former room, he half expected the other man to come to the window to wave goodbye as well. Richie stared blankly at the window for another second before taking out his phone and unlocking it. He snapped a photo of himself flipping off the building and sent it into the newly formed Losers Club group chat.

  
After one final glance at Eddie’s window, Richie got in his car and drove away.

***

About ten minutes later he pulled over and threw himself out of the car again. Shaking like a leaf, he stared up at the_ ‘You Are Now Leaving Derry: Come Again Soon!’_ sign. It hasn’t changed since the last time he left Derry, three months after eighteenth birthday. He could now remember clinging to Eddie playfully, promising to call every night after class and to use the cleaning supplies Eddie had gifted him to sanitise the room thoroughly before the other boy visited for Spring break.

He sanitised the room, not remembering why. He always had a niggling feeling that he was forgetting something as he lay in his bed after class, but he never called. When Eddie never turned up for Spring break, Richie didn’t even notice.

  
Richie steeled his nerves, took a deep breath, and stepped to the other side of the sign. He was officially out of Derry. He shut his eyes tight, waiting for his newly recovered memories to fade away.

_“Eddie, Beverly, Stan, Bill, Mike, Ben. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie…”_, he whispered to himself under his breath.

After a full minute of nothing happening, his phone dings. He pulled it out of his pocket to see a notification from the Losers Club group chat. He swiped it open, terrified that it would be one of them asking why they’ve been added to a group chat with a bunch of strangers. It’s Bill. He’d replied to Richie’s photo with one of the ridiculously large TV in his first class airplane seat. He was watching Richie’s stand-up. It’s captioned, _‘Rich, how the fuck did you do a fifteen-minute set on sandwich fillings?!’._  
Richie laughed out loud, relieved, and moved to type out a reply. Another photo is sent before he can.

It’s a selfie of Mike holding one of Bill’s books in front of the bottom half of his face, captioned _‘Brave words from a man who spent four pages waxing lyrical about the exact shade of blue of the sky on July 4th 1996'._

Richie laughed again and quickly contributed, _‘GET FUCKIN REKT BILLIAM!’._

Ben sends a shocked emoji and three little flames, followed by _‘That was from Bev’._

After a second Bill replied, _‘In my defense, I was on a shitload of drugs when I wrote that book’._

Mike's retort is a simple, _'I can tell'_.

Richie snorted and put the phone away, assured that nobody had forgotten. He got back into his car and carried on up the road. About ten miles later he pulled over to stare blankly at the steering wheel.

He hadn’t forgotten.

He thought he’d want to remember, but now he knows for certain that he will, he can’t help but feel disappointed. He’d have to live with knowing that he’d left Eddie behind. He’d have to go back to California and sleep in his warm bed in his ridiculously big apartment knowing that Eddie was rotting underground, in the dark, surrounded by filth.

Richie pressed his forehead into the steering wheel, breathing harshly through his teeth. He tried to remember what his overpaid therapist taught him to calm himself down, counting down from ten in his head and focusing on his surroundings. He sat up again and restarted the car, staring at the road ahead of him, white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

“Just go, Richie. He’s dead. Just leave,” he hisses at himself.

He doesn’t.

He throws the car into reverse and turns back towards Derry.

“It’s okay, Eds. I’m coming. I’ll get you out.”


	2. Whiskey, Rubble and Toothbrush Bristles.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie prepares for his rescue mission... by getting drunk and gathering exactly zero equipment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Descriptions of blood, alcohol, vomit and mild injury.

Richie took the long way back to Derry Guesthouse, just on the off-chance that he’d pass one of the other Losers and have to explain why he was doubling back on himself. Bill might be a thousand miles above the ocean right now, but Mike was still packing up his loft.

When he got back to Derry Guesthouse, there’s nobody behind the check-in desk.

Now that Richie has had some time to stop and think about it, he hadn’t seen anyone working there the whole time the Losers had stayed. Their room keys had been waiting for them when they arrived. Lined up on the desk in crisp, white envelopes labelled with their names. Only now did Richie realise how weird that was.

He hadn’t even booked a room, had he? And if he had, he wouldn’t have given his full name, he never used it. But there it was, clear as day on the envelope in red ink _‘Richard Wentworth Tozier’._ There hadn’t been one for Stan, as if whoever had written them had known that he wouldn’t be joining them. They hadn’t questioned it at the time, they’d all just taken their keys and gone to bed.

  
Richie realises now that it must have been the work of Pennywise. It had lured them there with a summons scrawled in Adrian Mellon’s blood and kept them at the guesthouse where he could keep an eye on them. Richie couldn’t help himself from imagining the clown in a bellhop uniform. He giggled softly under his breath and moved to the counter, where their room keys are all still sitting in a pile where they’d left them an hour earlier.

Richie paused for a second, hand hovering over the pile. If the guesthouse was under Pennywise’s influence, would it be safe for him to stay there now? He wondered idly if the clown’s existence was the only thing keeping the building standing, like the cavern. He pictured himself buried under the rubble of the Derry Guesthouse, like Eddie under the rubble of Neibolt House, and finds that he can’t bring himself to care. He was already planning to go back into Pennywise’s underground lair after Eddie, and he already knew exactly what he was going to do if he can’t get him out.

He'll never leave him alone again.

Richie reached for the key to his room, considered it for a moment, then snatched up the key to Eddie’s instead. After a quick pit stop at the bar to grab a bottle of whiskey, he found himself standing in front of Eddie’s door. Was it still Eddie’s door? The room was the last room Eddie’d ever had, the last place he got dressed, brushed his teeth, the last bed he slept in.

Richie shoved the key into the door and unlocked it before he can overthink it anymore. He’d been in there a few hours earlier to collect Eddie’s luggage, so there was no reason for him to make a big deal about it now.

He shoved the door open.

  
It’s worse than he thought it would be. Before, when the luggage was still there, Richie could pretend that Eddie was just in the bathroom, that he’d come back, get his pyjamas out of one of his cases and get back under the surprisingly rumpled bedsheets.

Now that the room was empty, the only sign that Eddie had ever been there were those rumpled sheets. Richie inched his way towards the bed. He could almost see Eddie laying there, tossing and turning in his sleep, worried about the dust in the air or the thought of how often the sheets were washed. Richie slid a shaking hand under the duvet.

Cold.

  
He took one last look at the bed exactly how Eddie left it before crawling in. He settled himself right in the middle of the mattress and pressed his face into the pillow, hoping to catch Eddie’s scent. He thought he might. He could smell something subtle, a faintly floral, nothing like the antiseptic smell he vaguely remembers from their youth. It could have been Eddie, but it just as easily could have been whatever the sheets were washed in. Did Pennywise wash the sheets?

  
Richie groaned and uncapped the bottle of whiskey, determined to silence his overactive brain for a while. He took a long pull from the bottle. His phone dings; a text from Bev.

_‘Ben and I just stopped for lunch. Haven’t forgotten. Have you made it to the airport yet?’_

For a split second, Richie thought about telling her what he’s doing. She and Ben are no more than an hour and a half away, they could help. Or they could try to talk him out of it. He pondered it for a second before typing out a response.

_‘Yup. Just returned the worlds sexiest rental car. About to call the bank to re-mortgage my apartment to pay for all the overweight baggage fees to get Eddie’s stuff on the plane’_

Her next message came through so fast that Richie can tell she had been staring at the screen, waiting for his reply. Probably worried. It made him feel like an ever bigger asshole for lying to her.

_‘He never did travel light. Do you remember the time we all spent the night at the clubhouse and he brought two fanny packs and a duffel bag.’_

Richie smiled, remembering that his own bag had also been half filled with Eddie’s stuff.

_‘Oh yeah, you can’t go without the backup fanny pack. God forbid we need more than three rolls of gauze’_, he replied.

They text back and forth for a while as Richie drinks his way through most of the bottle. Eventually, he had to pee and isn’t sober enough to not drop his phone down the toilet, so he finished the conversation with a quick,_ ‘They just called my boarding group. Ill text you later.’_

***

  
Richie stumbled into the bathroom and found out that he had been wrong. There was more proof that Eddie had been there.

  
Richie took one look at the blood all over the bathroom floor and dropped to his knees, spewing the whiskey into the toilet bowl. Once his stomach was well and truly empty, he slumped backwards to rest against the wall. It seemed like there was way too much blood to have come from Eddie’s cheek wound. It took Richie a minute to remember that Eddie had stabbed Bowers in the chest too.

He stared at the stained floor, feeling like he should be able to tell their blood apart. As if Eddie’s blood should look different to Bowers’. Purer somehow. Cleaner, maybe? He’s irrationally angry at himself for not knowing.

He dragged himself up off the floor, pees, then turns to wash his hands. There was a toothbrush and a razor resting on the edge of the sink. Feeling like a creep, but unable to stop himself, Richie reached out to brush his fingertips along the toothbrush. The bristles are still damp. There’s still hair trapped in the razor blade. Richie forced himself to wash his hands and leave the bathroom, closing the door behind him and vowing not to go back in.

***

  
Richie laid down on the bed again, reasoning that he needs to be well rested to rescue Eddie.

He doesn’t sleep. He can feel Eddie’s absence in every corner of the room, can smell the iron tang of his blood from the bathroom. He gave up on his nap, checked his watch, texted Bev a lie about having landed safely, then left the guesthouse again.

***

  
The Neibolt house was no less intimidating.

It’s collapsed, flat and sad looking, but knowing what lurks beneath made it feel just as statuesque and terrifying to Richie as it always had been. He examined the ruins, trying to form a plan of action. He knew he needed to get to the well in the basement, he’s hoping that the tunnels they had escaped through were strong enough to survive the collapse.

He made his way towards the space where the front door once stood, kicking debris out of his path as he went. He reached his destination and immediately started hauling armfuls of rubble off to the side, he tossed them away into the grass and brushed shards of sharp glass aside with his bare hands. He worked for hours with a single minded focus, not noticing when the sun set behind him. The skin of his palms had been shredded and were bleeding heavily. The sleeves of his shirt were soaked red, but he pressed on.

  
Eventually his arms ached too badly to keep going and he stepped back to check his progress. He was standing inside the kitchen where he almost lost Eddie for the first time when they were children. He could just barely see the stairs to the basement, to the well that would lead him to Eddie. But there was still what may as well have been a million bricks and a thousand miles of sewer between them.

Exhausted and dejected, he stumbled down the driveway and collapsed onto his knees on the sidewalk, wishing he had brought a bottle of water, or a shovel, or some fucking gloves. He dropped his head into his hands, smearing blood on his face and ignoring the sting of his own tears on his abused skin. He hadn’t thought this far ahead. Hadn’t considered what he would do if he couldn’t even reach Eddie, never mind get him out again.

_“The Barrens”_

“FUCK!”, Richie scrambled to his feet, head swivelling wildly towards whoever had just whispered in his ear.

There’s no-one there.

Richie stayed silent, ears straining.

_“The Barrens”_

It was further away this time, echoing. It was coming from below. Richie looked down.

There it was. Right under his feet.

A storm drain.

Richie cautiously moved closer and dropped down onto his stomach in front of the opening. He took out his phone, ignored the notifications from Bev, his manager and the Losers Club group chat. He turned the flashlight on and shone it towards the drain. It reflected back off of something that gives the light a weird orange tinge. But there’s no-one down there.

  
Richie waits for the voice again. And waits. And waits.

Finally, he cracks.

“Hel-”

_**“THE BARRENS!”,**_ the voice screamed from inside the drain and Richie threw himself backwards.

He took a second to catch his breath. He didn’t really recognise the voice, but he tried to convince himself that it could be Eddie. He pictured him screaming for help, alive, injured and abandoned underground. He remembered Bill’s adamant belief that Georgie could be found in the Barrens.

“Okay. The Barrens it is”, he mumbled, standing up and wandering off into the darkness.


	3. Eddie?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie returns to the sewers to find Eddie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your lovely comments! I've done a bit of a 180 here when compared to my plan, so let me know what you think!
> 
> TW: mention of suicidal thoughts and blood.

The Barrens were different. Richie realised suddenly that he'd never been there alone. the pitch black of the night didn't help, it was much harder to navigate. The flowing water was oddly quiet without the sounds of splashing feet and raised voices. Richie tried not to feel like he was on a farewell tour as he walked by the site of the rock war, then the spot where they had met Ben. He tried to convince himself that he would see those places again in the sunlight. With Eddie by his side, dead or alive. He just wanted Eddie to see the sun again.

He takes a final (but hopefully not _final_ final) glance at the water, imagining he can still see the ripples from Ben's dramatic entrance. He turned away and walked into the pipe where they had found Betty Ripsom's shoe so long ago. He's surprised to find that he has to bend over a little now, to avoid his head hitting the top of the pipe. He found himself wondering if Eddie would have to as well. With his head bowed and his phone's flashlight leading his way, Richie walked deeper into the sewers. 

Direction had always been Eddie's thing, but somehow Richie just _knows_ which turns to make. He knows when to tread lightly and when the ground is stable. He knows that if he places his foot down exactly two inches left of where he should, he'd step in an actual human turd. A few times, he ignored his instincts, just to see what would happen. Every time he did, he came across a cave in or a dead end.

He_ knows_. Until he doesn't. 

He didn't know how long he'd been successfully navigating the sewers before his newfound sense of direction failed him and he found himself hopelessly lost. Every turn he took led to a stretch of sewer pipe that looked exactly the same as the last. He could have been down there for days or minutes by the time his legs finally gave out and he collapsed into the dirty water. He barely had the brainpower left to remember to keep his phone above water. He imagined how Eddie would scream at him for sitting in the dirty water, memories of staph infection lectures flickered through his mind. The thought of Eddie's high pitched, panicky voice almost gave him the strength to keep moving, but his exhaustion wins out. Richie closed his eyes, either for a rest or forever, he didn't care. 

**POP**

Richie jumped, splashing greywater around as he thrashed upright. He looked around, head swivelling madly to find the source of the noise. Something red was floating on top of the water at his left knee. He gingerly fished it out to examine it. It was the deflated remains of a red balloon. Richie, remembering IT's penchant for red balloons, tossed the thing away from him and watched it splash down and send ripples across the surface of the water. 

Then, from the centre of the ripples, raised another red balloon, inflated this time. It floated on the surface of the water and Richie tensed, waiting for it to pop.

It didn't, but another balloon surfaced about five foot behind the first, then another behind that. Soon, a trail of balloons had appeared, trailing off into the distance and curving around a corner.

Richie stared at them for a second, then scrambled to his feet and turned away from the balloons. 

"Nope. No, no fucking way. IT's not dead, the fucker's not dead", Richie shook his head and started to walk away with every intention of calling Mike and telling him what had happened and that they might need to fight the clown again.

_"Richie? 'Chee?"_, Richie stopped in his tracks at the weak voice echoing through the pipes.

"Eds?", Richie's voice is barely a whisper. 

He had three options. Call Mike, try to leave the sewers or follow the voice.

He pulled his phone out and checked the screen. No reception. Typical. 

With one of his options gone, Richie looked left and right. Left, to the balloons, to IT... to Eddie, maybe. Right, to freedom, safety, or getting more lost and starving to death surrounded by human waste. 

It's an easy decision. 

Richie turned left to follow the balloons. 

He edged carefully around the first one, half expecting Pennywise to pounce at him from under the water.

As soon as he's passed the balloon, it pops.

“JESUS! YOU DRAMATIC CIRCUS BITCH!”, Richie hollered, jumping out of his skin.

He glared at the now-popped balloon, then looked at the trail waiting for him. Richie sighed and stuck his fingers into his ears. He followed the balloons at a brisk jog, flinching as they pop one by one.

***

If Richie felt like he was lost for days, then following the balloons was the opposite. Richie felt like he'd only been walking for five minutes when the pipes opened up to the upper cavern where the Losers had fought Pennywise as children. He cautiously poked his head out of the pipe to look around. The tunnel leading to Neibolt house was completely caved in, Richie lamented the hours he had wasted moving rubble. There were large chunks of rock and piles of rubble on the floor of the cave, the tower of children's toys had evidently toppled when IT has been defeated (though Richie wasn't so sure he had been now).

Richie took stock of all the places for a murderous clowns to hide between him and the manhole he needed to reach. There was a red balloon floating above the cover. He ran for it, leaping over a tricycle and stumbling on what was definitely a human femur. He managed not to fall completely, but he slid the last few feet on his knees. Coming to rest beside the manhole, he batted the balloon away before it could pop in his face. He tore the manhole cover up and tossed it away. He dropped into the darkness below without so much as a cursory glance. 

***

Following in their footsteps from the day before (two days? Richie had lost track of time), Richie shimmied through a tight passageway and into Pennywise's cavernous lair.

His eyes immediately wanted to search for Eddie, but he forced himself into searching for danger first. There's no clown, no giant spider, no scary doors, but there was a faint glow coming from the centre of IT's landing site. Richie lifted his phone above his head to shine the flashlight in that direction.

It's Mikes weird ritual tupperware. 

"Oh fuck. Why the fuck are you glowing, you fucking overblown bucket?", Richie hissed at the container, 

He inched his way closer to it, still resolutely not looking in the direction where they had abandoned Eddie, too scared of what he might see. Just as he prods the container with the toe of his shoe, his flashlight goes out. 

"Oh fuck! Oh no, no, no.", Richie wailed desperately, groaning when he realises that his phone had died. 

The only source of light left in the cavern was the dimly glowing container. Richie internally debated picking it up to use as a lantern rather than staying in darkness. He prodded at it with his shoe again. When it didn't explode, Richie decided to take his chances. He bent down and scooped it up. He held it aloft and started towards Eddie, tripping and stumbling over the uneven ground as he moved. The light was so dim that he almost tripped over Eddie himself. He barely managed to throw his weight to the side to land beside the other man instead. As soon as he had hit the ground, Richie was up again. He framed Eddie's face with his hands, mindful of the bandage on his cheek.

"Hi! Hi, Eds. I'm here. I-I came back. I'm sorry I was gone for a little while, but I'm back now.", Richie reassured the other man softly, between hitching breaths.

Eddie didn't respond, his head was limp in Richie's hands, his legs were splayed out uncomfortably and his hands were loosely clenched in Richie's own jacket, which was crusted to Eddie's shirt with dried blood. 

Richie smoothed Eddie's hair down, then pressed their foreheads together tenderly, still supporting the weight of Eddie's head. Richie held himself together for a minute, then the coldness of Eddie's skin gets to him, the stillness of his chest, the silence.

Richie let himself break. 

He sobbed and wailed into Eddie's skin. He clutched his best friend to his chest. The best friend he still felt guilty for forgetting, even though they all forgot. The best friend he'd only just gotten back. The best friend he'd been in love with since before he knew what love was. It finally sank in for him that he would never speak to Eddie again, or see him smile, or hear his laugh. Richie sobbed for what he'd lost, what he'd forgotten, and what he could never have. 

Once Richie had cried himself out, he resolved to make Eddie more comfortable until he could figure out a way to get him out. Or a rock sharp enough to join him. 

Richie laid Eddie back against the rock he'd died on so that he could straighten out his legs, then he gently removed the jacket from Eddie's grasp, he winced sympathetically at the sensation of the dry blood peeling away from Eddie's skin. He placed the jacket on the ground, grabbed Eddie by the shoulders, and lowered him down to rest his head on the jacket. Richie tried to ignore the gaping wound in Eddie's chest as he folded his hands over it.

Once he was satisfied, Richie stood up and started to search for an exit, knowing that he'd never be able to drag Eddie back up through the manhole. He held his makeshift lantern up again, but found that the light didn't travel nearly far enough to be helpful. He wasn't willing to leave Eddie in the dark for even a second, not again, not even to step away to find them a way out. Richie had a sudden brain wave. Mike had said it was all about belief right? Richie cleared his throat.

"I believe that there's an easy way out of here?"

Nothing happens.

"I believe that this lantern is stronger?"

The lantern remains dim.

"...I believe that Eddie is alive?"

Eddie stays still and cold. 

Richie decided that the whole belief thing must have been tied to the clown. Figures that the bastard was alive enough to send him creepy balloons but too dead to helpful. He took a closer look at the container, seeing the light leaking from underneath the lid. He weighed up the pros and cons of opening the mysterious container and possibly putting himself in danger versus leaving Eddie in the dark. 

He opened the container.

The cavern was immediately flooded with a blinding light, Richie shielded his eyes and moved to stand protectively in front of Eddie. The light dimmed after a second, so Richie risked a peek and saw a singular ball of light floating about two feet in front of his face.

A deadlight. 

"Shit!", Richie tensed and waited for the familiar sensation of being sucked into the light.

It didn't come.

Richie stared at the little light, confused. After another moment of nothing happening, Richie, in an action Eddie would berate him for of he were able to, reached out and touched the it. 

It shone brightly again for a second before absorbing into Richie's skin. He could feel heat moving from his fingertip, up through his arm and into his head. As soon as the heat reached his head it grew to an unbearable temperature. Pressure built up behind Richie's eyes until he was forced to close them with a pained grimace. The heat and pressure built up until Richie couldn't handle it anymore. 

Richie blacked out, falling backwards to lay beside Eddie on the rocky ground. 

Inside his head, the deadlight made itself at home. 


End file.
